


Communication

by SnarkyGreenBean



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Brigid language is Gaelic, F/F, Gender-Neutral My Unit | Byleth, Light Angst, no beta we die like Glenn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-08
Updated: 2021-01-08
Packaged: 2021-03-12 13:40:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,167
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28636425
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SnarkyGreenBean/pseuds/SnarkyGreenBean
Summary: Years after the reunification of Fódlan, Petra is still self conscious about her mastery of the Fódlan language. After hearing her beloved Dorothea sing a song flawlessly in the language of Brigid, Petra doubts her skills in communication. It’s up to Dorothea to fix this doubt.
Relationships: Dorothea Arnault/Petra Macneary
Comments: 4
Kudos: 16





	Communication

**Author's Note:**

> I don’t know Gaelic, please don’t murder me. I figured any grammar mistakes in changing the pronouns and hair colour and such in the song could easily count as Dorothea’s own mistakes, so I’m taking that scapegoat and latching onto it. 
> 
> This is my first FE3H fic! Hopefully more to come. This idea just invaded my brain and I had to get it down on digital paper. 
> 
> The song I used in here is called An Eala Bhàn by Julie Fowlis

Moving to Brigid had been exciting for Dorothea, much more than the reverse had felt for Petra all those years ago. It struck her as strange, too, how her new girlfriend had reacted to the language barrier. Dorothea picked up Brigidian with the same ease and grace as when she sang, and to say Petra was jealous would be an understatement. She was transfixed and perplexed. 

The two lovers had started something of a habit since moving to Brigid. Every morning as they ate breakfast, they would speak to each other in the other’s native tongue. Petra would ask something in the language of Fódlan, Dorothea would reply in Brigidian, and so on. It likely sounded bizarre to an outsider, but in the queen’s private dining room so early in the morning there was little to no disturbance or guests to confuse. 

Petra was not much of a morning person. Of course, she was no Linhardt and was never up much later than the sun, but she had learned that her darling Dorothea was an unusually early riser. She once said something about getting up early enough to practice and ready herself for matinee performances, which Petra didn’t entirely understand as the songstress was no longer working for the opera, but she would never complain about waking to the scent of fresh coffee and Dorothea humming a pretty Fódlan tune. 

Today, however, was slightly different. This morning Petra awoke to a different, much more familiar tune. 

_“Gur duilich leam mar tha mi_   
_'s mo chridhe 'n sàs aig bròn_   
_bhon an uair a dh'fhàg mi_   
_beanntan àrd a'cheò,_   
_gleanntannan a'mhànrain_   
_nan loch, nam bàgh, 's nan stròm_   
_'s an eala bhàn 'tha tamh ann_   
_gach là air 'm bheil mi'n tòir.”_

Dorothea’s delicate soprano resonated through the halls of Brigid’s palace and Petra was immediately wide awake. She slipped softly from her bed to creep into the kitchen without disrupting the song. 

_“A Petra na bi tùrsach_   
_a rùin, ged gheibhinn bàs._   
_Cò am bean am measg an t-sluaigh_   
_a mhaireas buan gu bràth?_   
_Chan eil sinn uileadh ach air chuairt_   
_mar dhìthein buaile fàs_   
_bheir siantannan na bhliadhna sìos_   
_'s nach tog a'ghrian an àird.”_

Dorothea was indeed brewing coffee like any normal morning, but Petra spotted the telltale sheen of tears on her cheeks where the morning sun touched them. Petra herself could feel the building warmth in her eyes as she listened to her lover’s mournful tune and the subtle changes she made to the traditional lyrics. She was singing about her. 

_“Air m'uilinn anns na truinnseachan_  
 _tha m'inntinn ort, a ghràidh._  
 _Nam chadal bidh mi 'bruadar ort,_  
 _cha dualach dhomh bhith slàn._  
 _Tha m'aigne air a' lìonadh_  
 _le cianalas cho làn,_  
 _'s a' ghruag a dh'fhàs cho donn orm_  
 _a-nis air thuar bhith bàn.”_  
  
Petra sat in one of the dining room chairs before her vision could blur further and simply listened to Dorothea’s rendition of the Brigidian tune. She had first heard the song as a child, sung by some Brigid soldiers about their time fighting the Empire. At such a young age, she’d never imagined she might become the distant lover that carried someone through the dark days of war, yet here she sat, a veteran of Fódlan’s reunification, hearing her love sing of that very thing. 

_“Mas e 's gu bheil e 'n dàn dhomh_   
_o'n bhlàr gu'n till mi beò,_   
_is gu'm faic mi'n t-àite_   
_'s an deachaidh m'àrach òg,_   
_bidh sinne 's crathadh làmh againn_   
_is bilean blàth toirt phòg,_   
_'s mo ghealltanas bidh pàighte dhut_   
_le fàinne chur mu d'mheòir.”_

_“Ach ma thig an t-àm_  
 _is anns an Fódlan gu'm faigh mi bàs,_  
 _'s an uaigh gu'n tèid mo shineadh_  
 _far éil na mìltean chàch,_  
 _mo bheannachd leis a'ghruagaich,_  
 _a'chaileag uasal bhàn,_  
 _gach latha a dh'fhalbh gun uallach dhi_  
 _gun nàire gruaidh na dhàil_ —oh Petra! You’re awake!”

“Dorothea!” Petra jumped at the sudden direct address, “Do not be stopping because of me. Please, be—continue.” 

A small furrow appeared on Dorothea’s brow as she approached her partner. “But you are crying. Please, if you want to hear me sing, let me sing something happier for you.” 

Petra shook her head. “You do not have understanding. I am not crying because of your song. I am crying because I have not...heard you singing in the language of Brigid before. And you even are changing the lyrics to be fitting for you and I. I feel...both grateful and inadequac—inadequate.” 

“Oh, Petra. Please don’t feel bad about such a little thing like that. I’ve been singing in other languages for ages. Usually I don’t even understand what I’m saying,” Dorothea comforted. 

Petra’s eyes widened. “How can one be singing without understanding of the language?” 

“Well, not all communication is through words, you know. There are plenty of other ways to communicate that are just as important. For example, I know that you are excellent at _communicating_ with your body,” Dorothea teased, running her nimble fingers down Petra’s sides and giving her thighs a gentle squeeze. 

“Dora!—“ Petra blushed a deep crimson, “that is not counting. I cannot be _seducing_ everyone to be communicating!” 

Dorothea laughed. “I should hope not! I happen to like having all that sort of communication to myself, my dear. However, there are still other ways you communicate quite well. Another is with emotion.” 

“That is not counting either! You know our professor is not communicating with emotion, yet we all have understanding of what they are teaching— _were_ teaching us!” Petra argued. 

Dorothea sighed and sat in a chair so that she could face her partner as she spoke. “Petra, what I’m trying to say here is that there are multiple ways of communicating and everyone has different levels of skill in each. You don’t have to be an excellent speaker to be good at communicating with others. For example, I happen to be a terrible writer, yet you have never once complained about my ability to communicate with you. Edelgard, however, would disagree wholeheartedly since she is usually the one who must decipher my awful penmanship.” 

“I...oh. That...is making sense to me.” 

Dorothea smiled and stood to pour some coffee. “Good! It’s much to early to be having a conversation about conversation anyway. I’d much prefer having a nice cup of coffee and then letting you teach me all you can about physical communication.” 

Petra blushed once more. “I believe I would be liking that too—oh! And may I tell you about the history of that war song you sang?” 

“Absolutely!” Dorothea beamed, setting a fresh cup of coffee at both their places at the table, “It is rather sad, but it always reminds me of how much we’ve come through together.” 

Petra reached across the table and gripped Dorothea’s hand. “We can be giving it a happier ending together as well.”

“I couldn’t agree more,” Dorothea smiled, leaning across the table to give her beloved a kiss. 


End file.
